Another Day at Aperture
by shadowmaat
Summary: A quick character piece on Cave Johnson's much put-upon assistant, Greg.


Greg was not having a good day. Which was nothing new, unfortunately. He reminded himself, again, that it was an honor and a privilege to be the executive assistant of the CEO of Aperture Science. He knew he should be grateful to have any job at all, but as he clung to the disintegrating catwalk over the mantis man pits, listening to their hungry chirrs, it was hard to stay focused.

No one knew he was here. There'd been some kind of chemical spill upstairs that had people bouncing painfully off the walls, so he'd attempted to take a shortcut over the catwalks in order to deliver some paperwork to the boys in genetics. _Men_, he reminded himself. The _men_ in Genetics. He had a dismaying habit of picking up Mr. Johnson's colloquialisms. Not that anyone would mind; it was far easier to go along with anything Mr. Johnson said or did than to try and fight against it, but it was the principle of the thing. In his own mind, at least, he should be free to think his own thoughts.

Right now those thoughts mainly centered on the fear of dying. He'd already had more close calls than he could count; from turrets placed in the halls as a "gag" to the infamous Potato Incident, and that one memorable time when there'd been a containment breach in the black hole research department. If Greg had arrived on time for that he'd have been in the room, too. He shuddered. They'd lost a whole wing that time, although there were unsubstantiated rumors that it still showed up now and then in different places, never long enough for anyone to try and get in... or out. They said you could hear the screaming, though, before it faded from existence again.

The reason he'd been late was that he'd been called to the daycare to deal with his young niece. _Not_ his daughter. He'd given up trying to correct everyone; Mr. Johnson believed it was true and everyone else simply followed his lead. As always.

She'd even started calling him "Daddy," herself, and... well, he pretty much was at this point, wasn't he? Her parents had abandoned her, "just for the weekend, thanks, Greggo," almost four months ago and he hadn't heard from them since. Hadn't been able to find them, either, despite calling everywhere. He'd called the police. He'd hired a detective. He'd placed ads in papers and checked with hospitals in the area they were supposed to be in. Nothing. It was if they'd vanished right off the planet, leaving him stuck with a precocious four year old and no one reliable to turn to for help. His family was out of the question. He hadn't worked this hard for this long to get away from them only to turn back now.

Besides, he had to think of what was best for her and that meant protecting her from The Family. Likewise he wasn't going to turn her over to the untender mercies of the foster care system. He'd heard about the kinds of things that happened to unwanted orphans. No, it was better that she be with someone she knew and who actually cared what happened to her. Aperture had a great daycare and it allowed her to socialize with other kids her age.

Greg had no idea what his brother had been doing with her before, but he was beginning to suspect that she wasn't... quite... normal. He'd initially written off her collection of dead insects as an interest in entomology... until he found the dead squirrel hidden under her bed. He had no idea where she'd found it or how she'd managed to get it into his apartment without him noticing, but they'd had a long talk after that and he wasn't sure how much of it actually sank in.

There were also the daily calls from Daycare. Was he aware that his "daughter" was setting up dangerous obstacle courses for the other kids and then pelting them with blocks as they ran? Could he explain why her art was full of shapeless monsters and bloody people? Had he heard some of the stories she made up? Aperture was all for encouraging imagination, but she was giving the other children nightmares. And every once in a while, despite all their safeguards and security, she somehow managed to escape. Those were the calls he dreaded the most because he never knew where she was going to turn up. She seemed to be touring the whole facility, showing up in various departments and pestering anyone who would listen to tell her everything about what they were doing. And once she'd managed to get ahold of the intercom system. Hoo, boy. He hadn't been able to get there fast enough and to make it even worse Mr. Johnson had been the one to find her.

The catwalk twanged as another support came loose, causing it to swing lower. What would happen to her if he died? She'd be thrown into The System and he knew- _knew_- that whoever wound up with her wouldn't understand her uniqueness. She'd be alone. He couldn't let that happen.

A quick check showed him that the mantis men were still milling below him, serrated arms waving expectantly. This had gone on long enough. The drop wouldn't be that bad, as long as he was careful.

Saying a silent prayer to any god who happened to be listening, Greg let go and dropped into the group's midst. He unslung the blueprints tube he'd managed to keep hold of and smacked away the nearest grasping claw.

"Hey! You stop this right now!"

Miracle of miracles, the group actually flinched. Was it his voice or his makeshift weapon? He didn't care. He waved the tube threateningly and stepped forward.

"Yes, you heard me! _Bad_ mantises! _Bad! _Get back!"

They lowered their arms and shuffled back, the ones ahead of him clearing a path to the door the keepers used for feeding and health checks. Greg could feel his heart hammering in his chest and was sure they could, too. Was it his imagination or did they look contrite? He pushed forward.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves! Behaving like this!" He kept one eye on them and the other on the door. Yes, they were actually covering their faces and ducking low, giving him a wide berth. He swallowed. "You stay. Got it? A-and be nice! Uh..." His hand groped for the door. he shape of it made it impossible for them to open it themselves. The doors were supposed to be locked at all times, anyway, but he was hoping that the laziness rampant in other departments extended to here, too. The handle turned easily and unlatched.

"Um. Good mantises. Stay." He shoved the door open, backed out, and slammed it again. His shoulders sagged in relief as he realized he was still alive. Locking the door he turned to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Multiple guns. Pale, wide-eyed scientists gawked at him from behind tranquilizer guns, assault rifles, and in one case a rolly chair.

Straightening, Greg fixed his tie, tugged the lapels of his suit straight, and held out the blueprints tube.

"Here are the updated plans for the new hatchery, Dr. Moreau. As requested."

Moreau lowered his chair and accepted the tube. "Uh... Thank you."

"Now that I've finished my- my inspection, I'll be going." Gathering his nerves again, he strode towards the door that led out. Scientists scattered from his path even faster than the mantis men had.

That was one thing about working for Mr. Johnson, he decided; you learned to be really good at managing people and rolling with the unexpected. He let the door swing shut behind him and paused to take a breath, then turned to head for the kitchen. It was almost time for Mr. Johnson's daily smoothie and he got really cranky if it was late.

Just another day at Aperture.


End file.
